Frankly, My Dear Captain Andor
by JustKeepOnTheGrass
Summary: Hollywood, 1943. In which Cassian visits The Hollywood Canteen for the very first time, Jyn does all she can to raise the men's spirits, and a wartime romance proves more complicated in real life than it does on-screen. [Jyn/Cassian - R&R]


_**Author's Note:** I'm warning you guys beforehand - this story is still set in the WWII AU, but it is something very different. I'm one of those people who couldn't imagine Jyn as a Hollywood actress, but here I am, publishing a story with her as one. I suppose this is what happens when you watch too many old films and listen to too many episodes of the "You Must Remember This" podcast! I really tried to make this Jyn work as best as I could, but if she doesn't for you, just please suspend your disbelief! I beg of you!_

 _I also would like to thank those who left comments on my previous stories. They are super encouraging and they keep me going. Also, it is SO great that many of you (like **kubo** and **Dyana** ) are sharing WWII events that you are interested in seeing in future stories. Although I can't make any promises (inspiration is a tricky thing), please keep these ideas coming! They are fascinating and I'm learning so much!_

 _Reviews are (almost) better than a good Clark Gable film. So please leave one if you can!_

* * *

 _We movie stars all end up by ourselves. Who knows? Maybe we want to._

 **Bette Davis**

 _._

 _Sgt. Nowland: Goodbye, you wonderful package of animal instinct._

 _Studio Guide: Every time I look at the Hollywoodland sign, I'll remember..._

 _Sgt. Nowland: I'll meet you there after the war...and we'll unscrew all the bulbs!_

 **Hollywood Canteen, released in 1944**

* * *

 _Jyn Erso does not look like a movie star._

 _This is the thought that crosses my mind when I meet her for our scheduled interview at her secluded Beverly Hills home. She is dressed in nothing but a pair of loose, flowing trousers and a bathrobe. Her feet are bare. She is puffing religiously on a cigarette. (Her habit as a chainsmoker is now well-known.) Her hair is not done up and there is not even a stitch of make-up on her face._

 _"Hello, darling," she says, in that English accent of hers that she has refused to tone down. She does not kiss me on the cheek, but leads me inside her house with a manner that is nothing short of crisp, business-like efficiency. Mysterious and elusive as always, like she is on screen and on the front pages of our newspapers._

 _I am supposed to meet with Miss Erso to discuss her upcoming play in New York, William Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing", in which she will be playing Beatrice in three months time. It is no secret that Miss Erso hates giving interviews, and ours is no exception. She has only relented because the ticket sales for the play are not rising as it ought. But I cannot help but wonder, as I walk behind her petite frame, what new information could she ever divulge to me? This woman has always been an island. And no amount of questions is ever going to convince her to give up her secrets._

 _Perhaps this is part of Miss Erso's appeal: the mystery. Unlike most of her compatriots, we do not know much about her. There had been parents - a Mister Galen Erso and a Miss Lyra Erso - but they no longer seem to be living. The Erso family was residing in Berlin before the outbreak of the war, during the rise of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party. The father, Galen, had been a Scientist; I managed to find old papers of his research. The mother, Lyra, a geologist. The circumstances surrounding their deaths are still shrouded in mystery. But by the time their daughter, Jyn Erso, surfaced in America and had her big break in the much beloved picture "Meet Me in Manhattan", she was already alone._

 _She is still alone now, I reflect, as she brings me through her barely furnished house. If she is not alone, she hides the fact very well. There is a distinct lack of personal photographs hanging on the walls or on her tables. No photographs of her with family members or friends. None with colleagues we know she had been friendly with during the war, like the late Carole Lombard, Bette Davis or Marlene Dietrich. The only photographs I see are of her on USO tours, surrounded by men in uniform. There is one of her in khaki trousers and a combat jacket, holding a pistol at a shooting range. A dark-eyed, dark-haired solider stands behind her, directing her aim._

 _Curiously, there are also no posters of her famous films - no mementos from the sets. The only poster in the house, surprisingly, is of the Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert's Oscar-winning picture, "It Happened One Night"._

 _"It is a gift," says Miss Erso, in response to my curious inquiry._

 _"A gift?" I ask. "From whom?"_

 _"A friend."_

 _She does not elaborate, but moves an enormous stack of old letters off the sofa before plopping down on it and directs me to sit as well. She lights a new cigarette and offers me wine, which I decline. Up close, she appears even more bedraggled than she initially appeared. This is, of course, another confounding aspect to Miss Erso's personality. She seems to care nothing for the glamour and the glitz which usually accompanies someone of her profession. She even seems to care nothing for the profession itself; her absence at the Academy Awards the year she won Best Supporting Actress for her role in "Dear Mrs. Miniver" is still much talked about. "Why become an actress then?" I ask her. She has, after all, never displayed much ambition in elevating her career._

 _"I am a simple, complicated woman, darling," she replies. "Sometimes in life, things fall into your lap and you must do the best you can with what you are given. And if what you are given is an opportunity to be in pictures…then you must smile and play the fool for the cameras. That is what you must do. That was what I did. Survival must always come first."_

 _Survival? Survival from what, exactly?_

 _"Why," she exclaims, as though I am completely brainless, "the war, of course!"_

* * *

 **The Hollywood Canteen, 1943**

Cassian Andor thinks he must be turning into a complete spoil-sport.

He finds the music in the canteen too loud for his taste, the chatter of servicemen around him too juvenile for his frayed nerves. He understands the impulse for revelries better than most; after all, these are young men shipping off to war for the first time, with very little life behind them and possibly with very little life ahead. However, understanding and relating are two very different things. Many of these men have never seen combat before. But Cassian…he has already seen enough dying men to last him several lifetimes. So an authorised trip to a nightclub is never going to be what it is advertised as: a balm to the soul. Not even if said nightclub is filled with pretty women and famous Hollywood stars.

Cassian sips on his pathetic glass of soda and curses inwardly. The place is hot and crowded, and he is feeling stuffy in his uniform. The nearby dancing men and women are encroaching upon his space. The fact that he is already plastering himself to the wall does not seem to matter one jot to a blonde junior hostess and her dancing partner, a GI who looks like he ought to be in school. They are taking up much more room than is usually required for a jitterbug.

"Enthusiastic, aren't they?" says a voice in a British accent.

Startled, Cassian turns to his left and finds a woman standing beside him. She is quite small and short, even in her heels. Her brown hair is curled and set in a business-like sort of way, her green dress surprisingly simple. She has bright red lipstick on, and make-up, but they look hastily applied and ill-fitting to the abrupt manner in which she is tapping her foot to the beat.

A small smile - a little too artificial for Cassian's liking - crosses her features once she realises he has noticed her. She turns to face him, her chin lifted expertly.

"Hello, handsome."

"Hello," says Cassian, not knowing what else to say.

"Would you like to dance?" asks the woman.

"I don't dance."

"I'm supposed to dance with every man here."

Cassian waves a hand at the crowded room. "Quite an impossible task to accomplish, I'm afraid."

"You are not having fun," the woman says matter-of-factly. "Can't you be bothered to smile a little? The scowl is bad for the photographs."

"The photographs?"

She points out two cameramen, one stationed on the stage and another near the entrance. "We are releasing them to the papers."

"We?"

"Hollywood must do all we can to aid the war effort," the woman recites, a hint of irony in her tone. "Please - try and act like you are enjoying yourself, mister…?" She arches an eyebrow quizzically.

"Captain Cassian Andor, ma'am."

The rank is still new to him, his unit even more so. But, thankfully, the woman does not remark on either, and he is grateful. He is in no mood to go into detail about why he, a Mexican soldier, is fighting in the United States army.

"It is hard to enjoy yourself, ma'am," says Cassian, "at a nightclub where there's no alcohol."

"Ah." She smiles - a genuine smile this time. "Rules, I'm afraid."

"I can't even smoke in here."

"Again. Rules. But here, Captain." She is slipping something into his hand and when he glances down, he is surprised to see that it is a flask. Her smile widens even more at the impressed look on his face. "Pour that into your soda. Perhaps it will make you smile."

Cassian is already smiling now. But he does as he is told just the same and pours a little of the liquor into his glass. Then, he passes the flask back to her discreetly and she slips it into her purse for safe-keeping.

"Tequila," Cassian remarks, after tasting his drink again.

"Only the best."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Your welcome, Captain. And now that I have you smiling, may I ask why you weren't smiling before?" She is teasing him, he realises with a jolt. As if she finds him amusing. "Aren't you taken aback by all the stars, Captain? After all, that is Bette Davis handing out sandwiches and Dinah Shore singing on stage."

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm not well acquainted with American stars. I don't go to the pictures much."

"Don't go to the pictures much?" She sounds fascinated. "How strange! What was the last American picture you saw?"

Cassian shakes his head. "I'm afraid I don't remember."

"Fine. What was the last American picture you enjoyed, then?"

He frowns, thinking hard. "There was one, ma'am. A couple of years ago. But I don't remember the name."

"What is it about? Do you recall?"

"Something about a rich woman travelling to New York. She meets a writer on the way and they fall in love." He shrugs, taking another sip from his drink. "A romance, I think, ma'am."

"A romance?" She looks surprised. "I never pegged you for a romantic, Captain. But I think you might be describing _It Happened One Night_."

"I suppose I am." He smiles a little. "I forget the name."

"So you're a Capra fan?"

"Capra?"

"The director? Frank Capra?" She is smiling at him again, all teasing and playful. "He is the director of _It Happened One Night_."

"I wouldn't know, ma'am. I just thought the picture was funny."

"I suppose it is. The ending, especially, when the curtain drops?"

"Oh, yes." Cassian smiles a little, remembering.

" _'The walls of Jericho are toppling!'_ " she mimics quietly, but the imitation is still uncanny. " _'Let 'em topple!'_ "

Cassian, to his own amazement, lets out a laugh. He is quite enjoying himself, he realises, and it might have nothing to do with the alcohol in his drink. It is probably because of this woman, with the flashing eyes and the coy smile, who keeps prodding him with her words as though she wants nothing more than to embarrass him. And, for some bizarre reason, he realises he is fine with being embarrassed by her.

"And you, ma'am?" Cassian asks, feeling like he must ask _something_ in return. "What was the last American picture you enjoyed?"

"Oh, heavens! I can't possibly choose! I suppose…I suppose it might be the latest Chaplin one. Or _Nothing Sacred_." Her lips curl mischievously as she looks over at Cassian. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Cassian smiles, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I don't, ma'am. Sometimes, all the pictures seem the same to me. Just one big…giant blur, I suppose."

"Should I go up and tell Bette Davis that she is no more than a giant blur on your screen, Captain?"

"I didn't mean it like that, ma'am!"

"Oh, I think you did!" Her eyes sparkle even more when she is pleased with herself. "You can't come to our town and insult our actresses, Captain! First, you wouldn't dance with me. Now you're calling our pictures - "

" - Ma'am, you're taking my words - "

" - rubbish, and that you have no interest in - "

" - the wrong way, I never meant to - "

" - having fun, when I'm clearly trying to make an effort"

The woman's final words stun Cassian into silence. And she crosses her arms and stares up at him, her eyebrows lifted in challenge.

"You're making fun of me," Cassian says simply.

"I certainly am," replies the woman, and she sounds overjoyed that he has finally caught on. "But it is only because you look so very serious, Captain."

Cassian does not know quite what to say to that. So he drinks some more tequila.

"If you're not interested in dancing with me, Captain," says the woman, "who are you interested in dancing with?"

"No one, ma'am."

"What rubbish!" She scoffs derisively. "You should come back on Friday night. Fridays are Hedy's. You seem like a bloke who would like Hedy."

"I'm afraid - "

"You are not enamoured with Hedy Lamarr either." The woman rolls her eyes. "Who are you, Captain, not to be enamoured with the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"Well, I quite like Carole Lombard, ma'am," Cassian says. "Too bad she's dead."

The moment the sentence slips out, he realises that he must have stumbled somehow; the woman's expression hardens immediately.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Cassian says quickly. "Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to be - "

"Blunt?" The smile she wears now is anything but warm. "It is not your fault, Captain. Although Carol would be happy to hear that you prefer her to the most beautiful woman in the world."

Cassian is staring. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't know you knew…" Then the realisation hits him mid-sentence and he almost groans aloud. "I'm supposed to know who you are, too, aren't I, ma'am?"

"Yes."

Oh, God. Oh, no. Suddenly, everything makes so much more sense! _Andor, you bloody fool!_

The woman goes back to looking amused once more. "Perhaps it is a good thing for you that you don't know who I am, Captain. But maybe not such a good thing for me and my career." She smirks. "My studio wouldn't be happy."

"I really am sorry, ma'am. As I've said - "

"You're not a big fan of American pictures, I know." She smiles again - a friendlier smile this time. "I understand. You don't have to apologise, Captain. But maybe I should go find a soldier who is a fan of mine instead. Perhaps my magic would work on _him_ and we'll win this bloody war."

She gives him a little wink before disappearing into the throngs of people, possibly to ask another soldier to dance. And Cassian, who is left spluttering for words, wants nothing more than to sink into the ground. He has come to the Hollywood Canteen because he _has_ to; he didn't expect to have a good time. But he didn't expect to leave it feeling like the biggest idiot in the world either.

"You were talking to Jyn Erso."

Cassian nearly jumps out of his skin. He has not realised that Kay has returned, let alone that his friend has seen the tail-end of his embarrassing interaction with the woman.

Kay, upon seeing Cassian's jumpy reaction, gives him an incredibly scathing look.

"Cassian, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"You look pained, Cassian," says Kay. "Not unlike the time I had to pull you out of the trench in France, when your ankle was sprained."

"You didn't pull me up. I pulled myself up."

"I had you by the arms, Cassian."

"But I - "

"Does this matter right now?" sighs Kay, rolling his eyes.

"I suppose it doesn't." Cassian, too, sighs heavily. "I just…I didn't know who she was."

"Who?"

"Jyn Erso. Thanks to you, I now know her name is Jyn Erso"

Kay's brows furrow into a disapproving line. "Oh. Her. It is not surprising that you didn't know her. One can't possibly know every unremarkable starlet in Hollywood."

"Unremarkable?"

Kay shrugs. "A one-hit-wonder, at best."

"I thought you'd like her, considering she's English."

"You insult me, Cassian."

Cassian cracks a smile. But, suddenly, he remembers something and begins to look around frantically.

"Kay, where's Bodhi? I told you not to leave him alone in - "

"Cassian, I'm here."

Bodhi Rook, a little dishevelled, appears at Kay's side, and Cassian breathes a sigh of relief.

"Kay, I told you not to - "

"It's fine, Cassian, honestly," Bodhi says quickly. "Kay really was keeping an eye on me. But we got - got separated."

Bodhi is tugging on the collar of his uniform, looking very uncomfortable and awkward. Ever since their time in Europe, Bodhi has not been good with crowds. Cassian has thought that the canteen's rule of admitting servicemen of all races would help somewhat. But -

"Are you alright, Bodhi?"

Bodhi gives a curt, stiff nod. His eyes, however, are a little too panicked for Cassian's liking.

"Bodhi danced," says Kay simply, taking a sip from his non-alcoholic drink.

"With who?"

"Not a Hollywood star," Kay mutters. "But probably one of their secretaries."

"She was nice," says Bodhi quietly. "But…"

"But what?" asks Cassian.

Bodhi looks to his left and to his right, before leaning in closer.

"You know how they said - they said Negro soldiers can dance with white women? That _I_ can dance - _I_ can dance with white women?"

Kay shifts uncomfortably; Cassian knows he, too, itches for a smoke when a situation gets serious.

Cassian meets Bodhi's eyes cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Well, there are - there are men watching us."

"What?"

"There are men…with eyes on us."

Cassian follows Bodhi's gaze, and sure enough, he sees several men in dark suits, standing near the wall. They are watching certain couples dancing in a way which Cassian knows from experience is more than polite observation.

 _Interesting._

"They might be Special Intelligence," Cassian says, his voice low.

Bodhi's eyes grow wide. "Why would - why would Special Intelligence care about who is dancing with who?"

"It seems like paranoia and racism are not a good combination," Cassian remarks. "Perhaps we will know more after the war is over. But for now, Bodhi…"

"Don't dance?"

"Don't dance. And warn the other boys too."

"This is another reason why we should leave, Cassian. When can we leave?" Kay asks. He is staring at the men in suits with deep disgust. "One can't help but feel like a zoo animal in a place like this."

"We leave soon," replies Cassian. "We have orders to stay until midnight, at least. Bodhi?"

"I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me, Cassian," says Bodhi. "I don't - I don't mind that much. And the sandwiches - the sandwiches here are good."

"That's great to hear." Cassian forces a smile and gives Bodhi's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I think I'll go get some, then."

Kay becomes instantly alert. "You are not going to - "

"I'm going to get sandwiches, Kay. Nothing more."

Thankfully, Kay chooses not to press the matter and let him go without further comment.

Cassian knows that his friend worries. But he feels only a slight tinge of guilt when, upon reaching the tables with the sandwiches and beverages, he decides to veer in another direction. He does not intend on doing anything drastic, he tells himself. It is not like he is going to get married. Hell, he is not even going to ask a girl out! What he does intend, however, is to leave here at midnight like he told Kay. But he cannot leave without saying something else to her first. Something to let her know that he is an idiot for putting his foot in his mouth, and that he should have danced with her when he had the chance.

But Cassian cannot see her anywhere. She is not on stage and not on the dance floor. She is also not at the canteen's entrance, welcoming servicemen who are arriving late. Eventually, Cassian finds her at the 'Hollywood Hall of Honour', a wall of photographs honouring actors who is serving in the military. She has her arm linked with a young soldier, and the poor boy is gaping at her as though he is in a trance.

"And here," Jyn is saying as she points to a picture on the wall, "here is Clark Gable. You wanted to see him, didn't you, darling?"

"Yes, yes," says the solider eagerly, still gazing adoringly at Jyn. "I'm a big fan of his."

"I'm sure you are, sweetheart. Most people are."

"Gee, I heard that he's Hitler's favourite actor, too! And that Hitler is offering a massive reward to anyone who could capture him alive!"

"Now, now, darling, what a fanciful tale! Clark would never - "

Suddenly, Jyn spots Cassian and her eyes flicker in recognition. She pulls the young boy to a sudden halt and Cassian takes that as his cue. He steps forward and addresses the soldier by Jyn's side.

"Private, if I may?"

"Sir!" The boy snaps to attention, recognising the stripes on Cassian's uniform.

"May I have a word with Miss Erso?"

"But, sir - "

"Private."

The boy blushes. "Yes, sir. Sure thing, sir." He glances shyly at Jyn. "Uh…I'll be on my way, sir."

As the young man stumbles away, Jyn's coy smile returns.

"Why, that is not very nice of you, Captain. To scare the poor lad away like that."

"I've come to apologise, ma'am."

"I told you that you don't have anything to apologise for."

"Well, I want to apologise all the same."

Jyn leans back against the wall, crossing her arms while she looks up at him.

"You're not British, by any chance, Captain? You have our habit of apologising when you don't need to."

"My mother was English." Cassian replies. "Maybe that's why."

"Well, if you're going to be a mule about it, then I am sorry, too."

"For what, ma'am?" asks Cassian, confused.

"For teasing you. For giving you a hard time" She shrugs. "The truth is, most of these boys are getting shipped off not knowing what awaits them. So they come here to live like it's their last night on earth." Her eyes cloud over a little and a more serious expression steals over her face. "But you…you are different. You have already seen the end. At least, you have seen glimpses of it."

Cassian can deny it, of course. But he is too surprised to do so. "How did you know?"

"Frankly, my dear Captain, you have a look," Jyn says. "I have seen this look before. I am a master at recognising it. "

Cassian swallows down the lump in his throat. "I don't really know what to say, ma'am. I'm almost afraid to ask."

Jyn inclines her head like it does not matter. "It is not a secret that my family and I…we were living in Berlin before the war broke out. It was not our choice or anything like that, but we had to stay all the same. And the things I have seen…" For a moment, her facade drops away and she looks sad. "Well, most people tend to forget that the first country Hitler invaded was his own." She sighs and shakes her head, as though to chase the memories away. "So I understand you, Captain. Better than most people here do. I should not have teased you so for not enjoying yourself. I should have been…more sensitive."

"But I was enjoying myself."

"You lie very well, Captain. I am impressed."

Cassian smiles. It is not the first time he has heard this. "Well, let's just say I certainly am enjoying myself. Now."

She arches an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, you are?"

"I think I am starting to." At least, he is enjoying the way her cheeks are reddening under his gaze. "And perhaps I can give a different answer to your question?"

"What question would that be?"

"You…asking me for a dance."

"You said you do not dance."

"I'm making an exception, ma'am," says Cassian, stepping closer. "For the war effort."

She smiles. And he is always going to remember the way her eyes shine at him. The way she takes his hand and leads him to the floor.

The song that is playing is one Cassian does not know. It is slow, almost sad, and he puts one arm around her waist while she rests her head on his shoulder. They do not say anything while the song plays. They simply sway together to the melody, savouring the peace…

Cassian does not care that a part of his brain is warning him against feeling too much, or that Kay is probably judging him from across the room. Just this once, the entire world can stop turning and let him take his time. Because in this moment - this one shining moment - he is still young and free, and he has a beautiful girl he likes in his arms.

Eventually, Cassian whispers, "If I were to ask you for another dance…"

"I would have to reject you."

"And if I were to ask you to meet me outside…"

"I wouldn't be able to. Again. The rules."

"And if I were to ask you for your address so I could write you when I'm away…"

He feels her smiling against his chest. "Then I would have to give you my studio's address and you would get a signed photograph in return."

"Ah." He smiles as well. "The rules."

"The rules."

The song is coming to an end. She is pulling away from him.

"But Cassian…"

"Yes, Jyn?"

She is beaming up at him, her eyes bright.

"Lucky for you," she says, "I have always loved breaking the rules."

* * *

 _Our conversation keeps going around in circles._

 _This and that - the industry, agents, her favourite restaurants in Los Angeles - but nothing of much value. We are getting nowhere, because she is good - very good - at keeping me at bay. Since she mentioned the war, I decide to bring up the topic again, hoping it would prompt more engagement from her. I ask her questions about the role she played in the Hollywood Canteen; she was one of the canteen's main volunteers, as well as a regular on the USO tours. However, she becomes evasive then, and only gives me one-word answers. She is glad the war is over, she says. Glad that she was able to help in anyway she could. But she offers no personal stories or insights. She keeps the answers generic. Unlike her performances on screen, the wall is always there._

 _A change of tact, then. I question her about the classic pictures she has shot for her studio instead. She laughs. "Aren't they all marvellous?" she says sarcastically._

 _"Don't you like any of them?" I ask, astounded. "Not even the one that won you an Oscar?"_

 _She stares at me like I have offended her. "Why, make no mistake, darling, I am grateful for what this business has done for me. But all of this…it means nothing at the end of the day. I have…other things I would rather be doing."_

 _"What other things?" I ask._

 _She does not give an answer, but I did not expect her to. It seems like I am no closer to unpacking the Jyn Erso enigma than the last journalist who sat in this chair_

 _I decide to ask why she is doing the play, then, if she would rather be doing 'other things'? "Why, it's a good play," she replies. "It makes people laugh. And I would like to make people laugh. We all deserve a laugh after the war." The surprise must have shown on my face, for she smiles. "You do not think someone like me would care about making people laugh?" And I blurt out that I have no idea what she cares about at all._

 _This is when I think she is going to throw me out of the house; after all, I did cross the line and insulted her. But her behaviour is continually unexpected. Instead of telling me to leave, she lights another cigarette and asks for my opinion on what I think she cares about. Is this a trick, I wonder? A test? But I feel obliged to play her game._

 _She cares about her family, I reply, although it is my belief that she has none. Her friends, although I do not know who they are. Her lover, perhaps, if she has one. Does she have one? We often wonder. There are no husbands, no sordid rumours of on-set affairs. If she has a lover, she keeps him well-hidden from the limelight._

 _When this subject is broached, she stops smoking and catches her breath._

 _"Is this relevant?" she asks, even though I suspect she already knows the answer. She, of all people, must know how the game works. Gossip sells papers. Papers sell tickets. Tickets sell popularity._

 _I reply to her question with another question: "Are you currently in love, Miss Erso?"_

 _It is the only time she is caught off-guard in our conversation. I do not think I have ever seen her look quite so alarmed._

 _"I was in love," she replies, uncharacteristically frank. "I am in love still." And she says no more on the subject._

 _Afterward, we circle back around to the play. She gives me the usual professional answers one gives about one's director, one's fellow actors and the play itself. I jot them all down, thinking that they are useless and uninteresting. What remains interesting, however, is her - her whose thoughts and feelings I still know nothing of, despite my having talked to her for nearly two hours._

 _Finally, I bring her back to the war. Again. To a topic I feel is more personal to her than any other. Perhaps this is the last act of a desperate journalist, trying to glean something from an unshakable source._

 _Hollywood knows better than most that it has not come out of the war unscathed - Clark Gabel had to bury his beloved wife, Carole Lombard; Frank Capra made "It's A Wonderful Life", a film inspired by what he saw in Europe; and William Wyler did likewise with "The Best Years of Our Lives". Even John Wayne is still struggling with the smear to his name, brought on by his refusal to enlist._

 _All of them, in their own way, have shown us the scars the war has left on them. I wonder - what are the scars the war has left on Jyn Erso?_

 _She smiles, enigmatically and sadly, in a way that only Jyn Erso can. "Wouldn't you like to know?" is all she says._

 _._

 _ **This interview is conducted for LIFE Magazine. Issue Date: 27 January, 1947.**_

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* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** I'm sorry (and kind of not sorry) for being ambiguous about Cassian's fate, guys! But I did leave clues that can be interpreted in many different ways and I really hope you still enjoyed the story. (*Gulp!*) Now, onto the history:_

 _\- The Hollywood Canteen was a club offering free food and entertainment to servicemen who were on their way overseas to join the fighting. The driving forces behind the creation of the canteen were actor John Garfield and Bette Davis. Davis was the one who found the club's venue and volunteered there relentlessly. During its operation from October 1942 to November 1945, more than 3,000 stars volunteered to work at the canteen. These stars included the likes of Marlene Dietrich, Rita Hayworth, Elizabeth Taylor, Fred Astair, Frank Sinatra, and many, many more. The canteen was also used as proof that Hollywood was 'doing its bit' for the war effort. A film titled "The Hollywood Canteen" was released in 1944 as part of this propaganda campaign._

 _\- The canteen's rules dictated that alcohol was not to be served and smoking was only allowed outside. The actresses volunteering at the canteen were encouraged to dance with every servicemen. However, they were not allowed to pay any of them special attention and were instructed to reject men who asked them for a second dance. They were also not allowed to meet with these servicemen outside the canteen or exchange contact information. Bette Davis, however, broke these rules and briefly took up with a Corporal named Lewis A. Riley._

 _\- I based Jyn's character on Bette Davis, Hedy Lamarr and Marlene Dietrich. Bette for her straight-talking attitude, and Lamarr and Dietrich for their European ties. Lamarr's life, especially before she came to Hollywood, was some wild ride. For many years, Hedy did hold the title of "the most beautiful woman in the world", but she was also a skilled inventor - a pioneer in the field of wireless communication. "I am a simple, complicated woman," is also a quote from Hedy._

 _\- Servicemen of all races were welcomed at the canteen, but racial tension was still high. The FBI, however, took things to a whole another level. FBI agents conducted covert operations on the premises, all because the canteen wouldn't enforce the segregation of blacks and whites. The FBI believed that racial integration was a cause of Hollywood Communism, and they were there to keep an eye out for those who might be recruiting people of other races to the Communist cause. Bizarre, I know!_

 _\- The actress, Carole Lombard, was considered America's first female casualty of WWII when she died on January 16, 1942. On her way back from a war bond rally to see her husband, Clark Gable, her plane crashed somewhere near Las Vegas. She, along with her mother, and the best man at her and Gable's wedding, were killed instantly. Gable, devastated, enlisted soon after. The two are buried next to each other at Glendale's Forest Lawn Memorial Park._

 _\- Mexico joined the war in 1942. Hence, Cassian's inclusion in the US Army. (Let's just ignore why Kay and Bodhi are there!) Hopefully, I can explore Mexico's contribution more in future stories._

 _\- I would very much like to recommend the following:_

 _(a) The documentary "Five Came Back" on Netflix about five famous directors (including Frank Capra and William Wyler) who participated in WWII and the impact the war had on Hollywood cinema in the 30s/40s._

 _(b) The "You Must Remember This" podcast! The episode "Bette Davis and the Hollywood Canteen" was key to my writing of this story. Other amazing episodes you should check out: Clark Gable and Carole Lombard (prepare tissues!), Hedy Lamarr, and Marlene Dietrich._

 _(c) The film "It Happened One Night" starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert just because. Also, shout out to "Gone With The Wind" for the title for this story._

 _I'm very nervous about this one so please, PLEASE leave your thoughts or any questions you may have! I also have other writing to do so it might be a while before I can post the next story. Hopefully, you won't give up on me while I'm away! :)_


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